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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524449">Monomaniac - Origins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowchikadee/pseuds/yellowchikadee'>yellowchikadee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Little Nightmares (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Backstory, Creepy, Cute, Dark, Gen, Sad, Time Loop, cute but creepy, theory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:15:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowchikadee/pseuds/yellowchikadee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Monomaniac: "a person exhibiting an exaggerated or obsessive enthusiasm for or preoccupation with one thing." Mono... a single-minded child who never gives up once his mind is set on something. So intently preoccupied with his desire that it drives him again and again, over and over, for an eternity. But the loop had to start somewhere, didn't it? An innocent child was consumed once, long ago, triggering the events of the Little Nightmares world as we know it. </p><p>A collection of scenes from the first iteration of Mono. Explores some theories regarding Mono and the Pale City from before the "loop."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*SPOILERS* This contains spoilers for Little Nightmares and Little Nightmares 2. If you have not played or watched the second game through completion, I recommend doing so. </p><p>This is just a collection of scenes inspired by Comic 5 of Little Nightmares 2, where we see Mono chased by a figure into a broken television. It got me thinking that maybe that was the first time Mono was captured and taken to pilot the sentient flesh-blob disguised as the broadcast tower.<br/>If you enjoy it and want to see a continuation, let me know. Depending on demand, I could expand or come up with new ideas. (Also, if you want to spam me with theories about the games, PLEASE DO. I'm obsessed and proud).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was his first memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not unusual,” Dr. Jones told his parents. He was a nice man with a big smile. And a big tummy too. But he wasn’t allowed to say that out loud. It was “rude” his mother had told him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s one of the special ones,” the doctor continued. “These mutations are becoming more and more frequent in children. My colleagues and I have been studying them at length for the past twenty years. One might say it’s the next step of human evolution.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it won’t hurt him, will it?” Mother asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly not,” the doctor chuckled. “In your son’s case, it manifests in static. Worst case scenario, he’ll have to stay away from toasters.” He winked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about the obsession with hats?” Father asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This made him tug his cap protectively tighter. He didn’t like when his parents tried to take the hat away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s perfectly normal. We’ve noted similar behaviors in the other children. They all seem to fixate on something. Dolls, music boxes, hats… We consider it one of the first indicators. It’s perfectly harmless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents looked relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hear that, buddy?” Father took his hand. “You’re special.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished he could remember their faces. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He remembered their first television. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does it work?” he asked, gaze fixed on the black and white images fluttering on the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you see the antennae here?” Father pointed to the things sticking out of the strange box. “They capture invisible waves, and those waves project the images and sound on the screen. Amazing, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a radio, but with pictures?” he guessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right! Smart boy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the strange, moving pictures. They made the hairs on his arms rise and a weird tingle go through his body.  “But… where do the waves come from?” he asked. “Radios talk to each other. What does the TV talk to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The TV talks to the broadcast tower,” Father explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broadcast tower?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you silly boy.” Mother walked in from the kitchen. She scooped him into her arms and walked to the window. He leaned against her. She smelled like pancake syrup and Saturday mornings. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen the broadcast tower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked out at the streets below. The sun was shining. People walked along the sides of the road, wearing their hats and smiles. Cars beeped and chugged along. He could hear the train rattling the windows as it drove by on the bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There, do you see it?” Her words were soft next to his ear, reminding him of bedtime and stories and goodnight kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up, following the street. Then, he did see it. Tall and distant, even taller than the building he lived in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow!” he said. “They built it fast! I never saw it yesterday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother looked at him. He couldn’t remember the look in her eyes then, but he remembered that it made him feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly,” she said, her voice sounding like it did when she was mad at him for playing with the toaster. “That tower has been there forever. You’ve been paying attention in school, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Forever? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he knew he’d never seen it before. “Then, who built it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s enough of your silly questions.” She put him down kind of rough. “Now, go and clean your room.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Pretty soon, everyone had TVs. A new store was selling them. The store next to the bakery. There was always a really long line of people waiting to buy one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His neighbors had one, his friends’ families had one. Some people even had one for their bedroom </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>for their living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked the TVs… at first. He liked the crackly sound they made on the channels without shows. He liked the way his body felt all tingly when he was close to one. He liked the buzz they made, which sounded like the ocean. He liked that they listened to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents didn’t believe him about that last part, though. He tried to tell them. Then, he tried to show them. “It’s true!” he insisted. “I can make anything I want show up on the tv!” But they got mad at him for stepping in front of the screen, so he couldn’t show them the trick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t need a remote. If the tv was on, he could tell it what to do. He imagined he was the one sending waves to the tv. The waves told the screen to show him pictures of his friends and of the school, and even things that he made up. It made him happy. Happier than drawing or reading… and definitely more fun than doing homework. When he got bored, he told the tv to be quiet, and it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Mother and Father didn’t know how to tell the tv to be quiet, so it kept talking to them. Every day. And then every night too. And on the weekends. And on his birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when he stopped liking the TVs. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He remembered the day his parents let him go to the store all by himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They used to say “You can’t leave the apartment whenever you feel like it! You’re too young and it could be dangerous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then it was lunchtime and there was no food in the pantry. He told them he was hungry, but they told him, “This is the good part! Hush!” and they said he could go to the store and get some food himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of a long way to walk, but it also felt like fun to be on an adventure by himself. He looked up at the sky and it was the first time he saw the waves. They were like little fuzzies that wiggled way up high in the air. They were bouncing off of walls and scrambling all over each other and zapping people right in the brains. But no one seemed to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waves had been tiny before. But they were getting bigger, and they were getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungrier.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He could hear them whispering, even crying. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Starving,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>So hungry. Feed us. Someone, feed us.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored them. He didn’t let them zap his brains. It was easy to tell them ‘go away.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren’t a lot of people at the store. Actually, it was just him and the shopkeeper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you,” the shopkeeper said with a big smile. He was sitting at the counter with a paintbrush, coloring a brand new wooden, toy duck. “I’ve seen you come in here with your parents quite a few times. The boy with all the hats.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like hats,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do I,” the shopkeeper said. “See, I’m wearing one right now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true. He had a brown hat on his bald head. It was a good hat. It was kind of like a squished-up fedora. Fedoras were the best hats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came here to buy some food,” he told the shopkeeper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” He sat the paintbrush down and examined his work in the light. “I’m sorry, but I don’t sell food here. It’s mostly toys and knick-knacks that I make myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But here…” The shopkeeper went into the room behind the counter and came out with a bag. There were cans of food in it. “You can have this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” he took the bag, feeling grateful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The friendly shopkeeper nodded with a smile. “It’s strange. A lot of kids have been in here lately, asking for food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because the grown-ups are watching tv,” he said, matter-of-factly. “It’s zapping their brains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man laughed, but it wasn’t a joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t watch much tv, m’self,” he said. “Eyesight’s not very good. And I like to spend time working on these toys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t rightly know,” he shrugged his big shoulders. “I like seeing kids happy, I s’pose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked that answer. “If you like seeing kids happy, then you shouldn’t watch tv.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughed. “Listen, young man. If you ever need more food or anything at all, come on back here.” He reached his arm out. “I’ll look out for you, best I can.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shook hands, which made him feel like a grown-up, even though his hand and arm were so tiny compared to the shopkeeper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” He pulled a hat down from one of the shelves. It was a newsboy hat, just the right size for a kid’s head. He plopped it on his head and smiled from ear to ear. “A gift from ol’ Roger to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thanked him and smiled right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked Roger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered what happened to him. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He remembered the day he broke the tv. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother and Father had been in the living room for hours. He’d fed himself cold beans from a can. He’d stared out the window at the dark sky. People kept saying the weather was bad because of the season. They said it was a storm and it would pass. They said it was on the news on the tv. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t a storm. It was the waves. They clogged up the sky and filled the air with darkness. They reminded him of crows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was angry and lonely and hungry and bored. He asked Mother to read to him. She told him, “Hush, not right now.” He asked Father to take him to the park. “After this show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the tv. He didn’t understand. It was the same shows, always on a loop, always playing. And in the background, in the static, that hungry roar. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Need more. Starving. Feed me. Someone feed me.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me.” He said. His parents didn’t. “Look at me!” They ignored him. “LOOK AT ME.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the tv changed. The screen depicting an eye. Looking straight at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>it said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re the one. You can feed me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It scared him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“STOP!” He screamed. He pinched his eyes shut and held out his hand. “GO AWAY!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it did. The tv smoked and sputtered. Then, the screen burst, sending glass through the air. At last, it was silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents turned on him. He couldn’t remember their faces. But he remembered that they were angry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Mother howled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He broke it! He ruined it!” Father screeched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s that power—that </span>
  <em>
    <span>curse</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He backed away from them, slowly. He could feel tears running down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The doctor said it was harmless!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harmless?! He’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his hat down tighter to hide his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not a monster. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to get him re-evaluated!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The doctor will know what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for your own good, son. You don’t want to be dangerous, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to be a monster, do you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents didn’t sound right. Their voices were like static. They were sounding more and more like the whispers of the waves. He missed his mom’s sing-songy tones and his dad’s deep laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to see the doctor. He wanted his parents back. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Dr. Jones was different this time. When he came into the waiting room, his eyes were dancing everywhere. His face was kind of droopy. He was twitchy and his voice was nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kind of nervous he sounded whenever Mother caught him lying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but I can’t see any more patients right now. Appointments are booked until the end of the year.” He laughed, but it sounded more like a cry. “Facial reconstructions… I’m not even a cosmetics surgeon… and then the children… the faces… it’s too much… my world—it’s like it’s been turned upside down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could tell. The waves were whispering to the doctor, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on!” Father said. “This isn’t about us! It’s our son. You remember, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Jones finally looked at him, and he looked confused, like he’d never seen him before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your son… another child. No…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waves whispered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Him. Yes, him. It has to be him.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” the doctor said, slowly. “Him. I remember. Yes, of course. I can see him immediately. What’s the issue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s that power of his. It’s getting out of control. He’s breaking electronics now,” Father said. His voice was cold. Disapproving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. Yes, I’ll have to run tests. Do you mind if he stays here at the hospital for a few days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do what you need to do,” Father agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He clung to his mother’s leg. “I don’t want to be here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, stop it!” She pulled away from him. “We’re doing what’s best for you. It’s only for a few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He was crying. “I don’t want to be alone… please, don’t leave me alone with him, Mama! I want to go home! I won’t talk to the tv again, I promise! Just don’t leave me alone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they did leave him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In some ways, he’d been alone ever since. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I got some positive feedback from you guys and I've still been spending every day theorizing about Mono and the Pale City and the squirming abyss, so I just had to add to this~ (Honestly, LN2 was the first game I've played in literal years that has hit me this hard. I'm glad I'm not alone in that feeling).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lots of kids were afraid of the hospital. Mostly because that’s where kids went to get shots, and shots hurt. But he’d never been scared before. He wasn’t scared of most things, back then. He liked being way up high and leaning over the railing. He liked small, dark spaces. He liked spiders and sometimes let them make webs in hats that he wasn’t using. He liked sudden, loud noises because they made his heart beat fast and made him want to run and jump around. He wasn’t afraid of deep water because he knew how to hold his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing he was really scared of was being alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hospital used to be a fun place. He liked the waiting room for kids. There were always toys and coloring paper there. He really liked the stuffed bears and kind of wished he could keep one so he could wear its head as a hat. But Mother used to say that was “creepy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hospital wasn’t a fun place now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Jones kept putting little stickers with wires all over him. He poked him with needles and gave him weird medicine, even though he didn’t feel sick. He made him stand in the x-Ray machine for a long time. He mumbled and laughed and cried and scribbled in notebooks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even that was better than when he left him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care if the doctor was doing weird tests on him. He’d rather be with him, even as the waves zapped his brain through the intercom, than to be left in a room all alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s where the doctor put him every night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his parents again. He would tell them he was sorry for breaking the TV. This time he would use his powers to change the pictures on the TV so that the waves didn’t zap his parents’ brains anymore. It would take a lot of time, but that would be okay. Even if he had to sit in the living room with them all day for the rest of his life, it would be better than being alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They told him he would only be at the hospital for a few days. One time, his teacher told him that a “few” meant “about three.” But he counted and he spent three nights alone in the small room without windows. Then four. Then five. Then six. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mother and Father will come for me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I’ll call them when we’re done with the tests,” the doctor told him. “You’re special. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Very </span>
  </em>
  <span>special. You can affect radio waves. You can see them too, can’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded and pulled his hat tighter on his head. He hadn’t taken it off since he got here. It was his favorite black fedora that Father got him last year for his birthday. It was the only thing that made him feel safe here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what we need to find out is if you can affect other waves, too. Microwaves? Infrared? Ultraviolet? Gamma? We need to know the extent of your abilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always say ‘we,’” he whispered. “Who’s the other person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Jones twitched and grumbled. “Me and the other doctors, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was lying. He knew because he could hear the waves whispering. And he heard other things too, like the low voice on the phone telling the doctor what to do, late at night. “Keep up the good work,” the voice said. “My client is </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>interested in him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what a client was but he did know that someone was watching him. Ever since that day when he broke the TV. There was an eye, always looking for him. Never looking away, even when he couldn’t see it. Maybe that was what “client” meant. A client was that creepy feeling of someone standing over his bed at night and whispering. It was the loop of static and the buzz of the words “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Starving. I’m hungry. Feed me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished he’d never learned who… no… </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>that client was. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He counted fourteen sleeps before he heard the screams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t count them as nights or days because there were no windows and he wasn’t good at reading clocks. He could only count by the number of times he fell asleep, curled in a ball on a hospital bed, crying and </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know if he was hearing them echo down the halls, or if he was hearing them through the static of the intercoms. He didn’t know who was screaming or why. Sometimes it sounded like grownups, but sometimes it sounded like kids too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be quiet,” he commanded. But the screams didn’t listen to him like the waves did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear crying when the doctor pulled him down the hall toward the room that he didn’t like. There were closed doors and whimpers. “Are there other kids here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor squeezed his hand tighter. “Yes. Special kids, like you. Well, not like you. Special in their own ways, I suppose. But still useful. If they can prove themselves useful…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kids are always useful!” He said, because for some reason, the doctor’s words made him mad. The same way he once got mad at a kid at school for saying his dad looked stupid because he was so tall. He told that kid it was better to have a tall dad because when he was on his shoulders he was the tallest kid alive. “Kids can do lots of stuff! Like get into small places and reach things you lose! And we’re better climbers than grown-ups, so we can climb in trees and get your hat if it gets stuck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t think the doctor was listening to him very much. He just pulled him quicker down the hall. “We don’t need ordinary kids. We need special kids. You’re the first… the most important. Number one. Project </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mono</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Mono means one, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it means mono or stereo, like on the TV.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This made the doctor laugh, but it was that laugh that kind of sounded like crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mono. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mono</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He couldn’t remember his real name, but he remembered that. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He remembered the spoons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor always had a new idea for the spoons. Sometimes he held them up in front of him. Other times he stood them up straight. Once, he even had the idea to hang them by strings on the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bend it,” he’d command. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t!” he cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then make it move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I can’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU CAN.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He curled into a ball and cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told me you could talk to the signal waves, didn’t you? You can tell them what to do, so do it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… can’t,” he sobbed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’ll keep trying until you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made him practice every day, then made him take the spoons back to his room to practice more. To practice </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The crying came from a door in the hall on the way to his room. He knew it was a kid, now. A little girl. And even though it was awful and her screams made him sad, he felt relieved that there was someone so close to him. Someone like him. It was horrible, but he kind of hoped her parents wouldn’t come for her either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help me…” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help her. He wished he could, but he couldn’t even move spoons. But maybe… maybe he could show her that she wasn’t alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he got down on his hands and knees when the doctor wasn’t looking, and he slid one of the spoons under the door to her. Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything to her. Or maybe she would think of it like a birthday present because maybe her parents forgot about her birthday too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time he was walking in the hall, he saw her little fingers reaching out from under the door. “Hi,” she whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he whispered back, and he gave her another spoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did this for sixteen sleeps, until the day he finally made the spoon move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t mean to. He was afraid of what would happen when he did. But the doctor was smart. One day, he brought a radio into the room and plugged it in. The waves were stronger this way. They were loud and hungry and buzzing. He turned the volume up louder and louder. And the louder it got, the more scared and angry he was. Until finally, he yelled, “BE QUIET!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The radio popped and fizzled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spoon crumpled in on itself like the folds of a paper boat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the doctor stopped giving him spoons... and the girl stopped crying. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Waves… what else can you control? Electromagnetic waves? Sound waves? Where does it end? Where does it begin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor asked him this every day. Every day he tried something new. New tests. New needles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Light? If you can control light, you can control time… Yes, that’s what we need to know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Light.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished he could control time. If he could, he would go back to when he lived in his apartment with Mother and Father. He would play hide and seek. He would go back to school and see his friends again, even though they made fun of his hats. He would go all the way back to when they took him to the doctor and he would tell Mother he didn’t want to go. Then, he wouldn’t be special and he wouldn’t be here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a new room behind iron bars. A chair sat in the middle of it and a stool in the corner. A radio was there too. He was in the room for hours sometimes. The doctor gave him a ball to play with, which he rolled around when he was really scared or really bored. This room was where the new tests took place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor made him practice by putting things on the chair. A spoon. A stuffed animal. He made him move them by telling the waves what to do. Only, they learned fast that he couldn’t move things without ruining them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spoons were always bent. The stuffed animals always tore. Plastic melted. Porcelain shattered. No matter how hard he tried, he always warped everything he used his powers on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, one day, he brought a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was tied down to the chair. His eyes were droopy and clouded. He seemed like the doctor had pricked him with the needle that made the world turn woozy for a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make the waves tell him what to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know how to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor turned on the radio. The waves came right out and zapped the man’s brain, and the doctor's brain, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make him stand,” the doctor said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried. He tried for so long that his head started to hurt. His head hurt and his eyes hurt, so he pulled his hat down tight over his eyes. It was getting old and stinky but he didn’t care. He wanted to become the size of a spider so he could hide in his hat forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then… the doctor took his hat away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This made him scream. He screamed so loud and so long that the waves started to scream too. And when the waves screamed, the man screamed. Everyone was screaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor gave him his hat back, so he calmed down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when his eyes were open and he was calm, he looked at the man again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor laugh-cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cried too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the spoons and stuffed animals and plastic… The man’s face was crumpled too. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He remembered the day he escaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was in the room again. The room he hated. And there was a woman in the chair. She was wearing a weird helmet attached to an electric wire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to control the electricity. If you can do that, she’ll live.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I can’t! Please, don’t hurt her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the doctor had changed so much. The waves and the whispering man who stole children from their bed had distorted him. Like the bent spoons and crumpled faces. He was twisted up all funny on the inside. He didn’t care about hurting people anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t hurt,” he promised. “And you can stop it. You can cut the power or… you can rewind time back to this moment, before it happens. Can’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do that! Please!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too late. The doctor pulled the switch and the woman shook and frothed at the mouth and then she was dead. She was dead, and he’d watched her die, uselessly on the stool in the corner of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, fix it,” the doctor yelled. “Make her come back!” He turned up the radio. “Fix it, Mono! Save her!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t… because he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he ran. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran and hid. The doctor yelled for him in the halls. He swore he’d find him. But he was always the best at hide and seek. And he knew the hospital now. He knew the best places to crouch down and disappear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took him three days. He used a saw that the doctor had, in a room full of mannequins. He used the saw and he cut the bars a little bit every day. Until his hands were raw and bleeding. He cut a hole just big enough for him to squeeze through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then… he paused. He wondered if the girl was still in her room. He wondered if there were other kids here. He wanted to help. He went to her door and looked under the crack and called out, as softly as he could. “Hey… Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” his voice was whimpery now. “Come with me,” he begged. “I don’t want to be alone…” But even if she was in there, she couldn’t come with him. They weren’t big enough to open the doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, if he hid some more, for a while longer, he could saw the door handle too. He could help her get out. They could run away together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get the chance to try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he heard that laugh-cry. He heard the walls shaking and the doctor breathing hard. “It wants him,” he groaned. “It wants him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran away, squishing through the hole he made. But his hat got stuck on one of the bars. He got scared and ducked away. He turned around to grab it, but he could see a shadow at the end of the hall, big and dark. So, he left his hat alone and ran as far and as fast as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the hospital and into the rain—where the crying hunger was even louder than before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found a dumpster to hide in. The trash was stinky but soft, and here the rain wouldn’t make him soggy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered crying himself to sleep with the strangest thought buzzing around in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this is worse than the hospital. Now, I really am alone. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He remembered the stench. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought it was from the garbage he slept in. But when he crawled out of the dumpster and into the rain, he could still smell it. The rain was muffling it a little, but it was everywhere. Like when Mother cooked liver and onions for dinner and then lit a candle. The candle just made the apartment smell like pine-fresh liver. And the rain just made the city smell like wet rot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the smell of garbage and sour food. Of moldy wood and dirty socks. And another smell that he didn’t recognize, but was the worst of them all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He learned what that smell was when he tripped and looked down and saw a dog laying there. Its stomach was open and white worms crawled all over it and the smell rose and enveloped him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smell of death. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Home was far away. He wished he’d paid attention in the car. He wished he paid attention in school when they were learning how to read maps. He wished he’d read the street signs instead of imagining a pretty bird with yellow feathers racing the car outside his window. He wished the buildings didn’t look so similar. Most of all, he wished he had a hat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waves were so much louder out here.</span>
  <em>
    <span>“Feed me. I’m starving. I’m scared. I’m dying.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was hungry too. And scared. And he thought maybe he was dying, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t even ask for directions. The streets, which used to be sunny and bustling with cars and people, were empty. Everywhere he went he heard the static of televisions, the TV shows on repeat. He could see the glow of the screens through the windows. He could see the waves, cycling and recycling through them over and over again. The constant hum. The buzz of a creature crying for </span>
  <em>
    <span>more. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His tummy grumbled and his feet hurt. He was cold all the way to his bones, because he was still wearing the hospital gown the doctor gave him, and now it was all wet from the rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want to go home,” he cried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he was lost. He walked and walked until it was dark and his legs hurt and he was too tired to keep going. It never stopped raining, not even a little, so he tried to find a good place to sleep. He didn’t want to sleep in another dumpster, because he already felt sick from all the bad smells, but if he couldn’t find anything else, he’d take it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was about to give up and sleep under a truck that was crashed into a pole on the road, but then he saw something glowing. Not the bluish-gray glow of a TV either. It was a warm glow, yellow and happy. The glow of a fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tiptoed toward it, sneaking in case someone bad had lit it. He wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers because they could be dangerous or creepy. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed dangerous and creepy now, so maybe it would be okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was in an alleyway, under the tin roof of a shed that someone must have moved there. There was a good smell, like something was cooking. He missed that smell and it made his stomach growl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a second, he almost screamed. There was a ghost sitting in front of the fire. Instead, he put his hands over his mouth and stepped backward. But he wasn’t watching where he was going and stumbled on a can, which made the ghost look at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He almost ran away, but then the ghost stood up and held a hand out to him. It was a little hand, like his, and ghosts don’t have hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey…” the ghost whispered. Not a ghost. A kid, like him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked forward slowly, until he was out of the rain. Up close, he could see that the kid was cooking something on a stick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rat, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he realized. And even though that was gross, his stomach growled again anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re from the hospital,” the boy whispered, as he looked at the tattered and dripping hospital gown he wore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “I ran away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too,” the boy said. He tugged on the torn sheet, which must have been from one of the hospital beds. Then, he patted the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat down next to him, relishing in the warmth of the fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy looked down at the rat on a stick, then at him. He heard his rumbling stomach, but didn’t move for a long time. Finally, he adjusted the stick between his knees and tore the rat in half with one hand before offering part of the creature to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it safe?” he asked, because Father always told him that rats carried diseases. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other boy shrugged. “Does it matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did it? He wasn’t sure anymore. But he was sure that he was hungry. So, he took the charred up bits of meat and ate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did the doctor do experiments on you, too?” he asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy nodded, then lifted the sheet he was wearing, all the way up to his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swallowed hard when he saw the boy’s right side. His arm was… gone. Just a nub wrapped in bandages beneath his shoulder remained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped the sheet and curled in on himself. “He took it off to see if I could use my power with one hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have powers, too?” he asked. “What are they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy shook his head. “I don’t want to tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” he asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy didn’t answer for a second. Then, instead of answering, he asked, “What about you? What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>powers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to answer, but then froze. He thought about the way his power crumpled and messed things up. And about the way the waves were looking for him. And about the way that, if he was older and smarter, he could have used his powers to make everything better. “I don’t want to tell you,” he finally admitted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, they didn’t talk. They ate their scraps in silence, the boy in the sheet bringing bite after bite underneath the blanket so that he didn’t have to show his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made him wish he had a hat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I sleep here?” he asked when they were finished. He was suddenly so sleepy that it hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” the boy said. “But I have to put out the fire, first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” he asked. He didn’t want the warmth of the fire to disappear. It was the only warmth he’d felt in months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because the… </span>
  <em>
    <span>grownups</span>
  </em>
  <span> sometimes confuse it for the light from a TV.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, he put out the toasty warm fire and they curled up on the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shivered on the cold concrete, kind of wishing he was back in the hospital where he at least had a bed and blanket. But at the hospital he had to watch someone die. At the hospital, he scrunched up someone’s face. Still… it was bad for him to think, but… maybe it would have been worth it to stay. Because he was sure he was going to die out here. He thought maybe he would have died in there too, but at least he would have died warm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey…” the boy whispered. “Are you asleep?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he said. “Not yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy was quiet for a moment. He could hear his shaky breaths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to…” the boy trailed off. “Could you… hug me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up. “You want me to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be warmer,” the boy whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was more than that. He knew it, because he felt it too. He knew that it had been a long time since anyone wrapped their arms around him and told him it would be okay. He knew it had been a long time since he felt a warm hand or warm cheek or a heartbeat through a warm chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, he scooted close to the other boy. He was taller, so he curled up around him from behind and hugged him tightly with one arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was warm. So much warmer than fires or blankets. It was a kind of warm that he could feel deep inside, in a place that made him want to cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other boy must have felt the same, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>start to cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a big brother,” the boy whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t ask what happened to him. He already knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be your big brother now,” he said. “I won’t leave you alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, they both cried until they fell asleep. And it was the best sleep he’d ever had. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>In the morning, Little Brother told him about the girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s not afraid of anything,” he said. “My brother told me that she’s helping kids run away. She helps them escape across the river to the forest. He said there’s a bunch of kids there, like us. And they don’t run out of food, and it doesn’t rain there. I want to find her and cross the river.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can go together,” he said. “But first… can we look for my parents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little Brother rubbed the place where his arm used to be. “I don’t know… I don’t think it’s a good idea. All the grown-ups are messed up now. I think your parents are too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe…” he agreed. “But I think I might be able to fix them with my powers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You… can fix all of this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe not for everyone. Maybe not at all. But I want to try. I miss them. If it works, maybe I can fix your parents too!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. “You can’t fix my parents. They’re dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh… well, then… I’ll fix my parents and they can ‘dopt you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Adopt me? I thought people can only adopt cats?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, but he hadn’t laughed in such a long time that it sounded scratchy and kind of hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay… I’ll help you find them,” Little Brother said. “But if they’re broken too, then… you have to promise to look for the girl with me. You have to promise we’ll go to the forest together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took his hand. “I promise.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>He lost count of the days. They all sort of washed together like water in the drain pipes. During the days, they explored more and more of the city and gathered food. During the nights, they found small places to snuggle together out of the rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little brother showed him the best places to look for food. When they were lucky, they found cans of soup and packages of crackers. For the unlucky times, Little Brother taught him how to find rats. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The grownups started putting cages out to trap them because they were chewing through the power cords,” he explained. “So the best way to find them is to follow the cords and listen for squeaking. You have to get the ones that are alive, because the dead ones get flies and those little worms in them and if you eat that, you can die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little Brother was good at hiding and good with directions. But there were lots of things he couldn’t do because he was missing an arm. So, he helped Little Brother with those things. He was the strong and nimble one. Together, the city was a little less scary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little Brother didn’t know this, but he was keeping him safe from the waves too. They were always swirling around outside. Always whispering and crying for food. They tried fluttering into their brains, but he swatted them away and told them to stay away from them, which always worked for a long time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll keep him safe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he did. Every time the waves tried to attack. And the time when a street lamp almost fell on him. And the time when a dog chased him into an alley. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was the first time he killed something that wasn’t a rat. He remembered grabbing a board and slamming it down on the dog’s head. He remembered the sickening crack and the yelp of pain. The twitching limbs and then the stillness. He remembered how scared he was. And how Little Brother grabbed his hand and squeezed when he couldn’t stop shaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t like killing things. But he would do it to protect him. He would do it so that he wouldn’t end up alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day, while they walked hand-in-hand along the railroad tracks, he saw a familiar sign. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I know this place!” He stood on his toes and peered up at the sign that was just barely peeking out over the top of a building. “That sign is close to my house! We finally found it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little Brother stood up on his toes, too. “I can’t see it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here.” He crouched down. “Climb on my shoulders, I’ll show you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think you can lift me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! I’m strong, and you weigh at least an arm less than me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little Brother laughed, then climbed up onto his shoulders. He lifted him high and pointed to the sign. “There’s a toy shop a little ways past it, and then my house is over there.” He pointed to the right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you really think you can save your parents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “Even if I can’t make them normal right away…” he paused. “The thing that’s making them sick—that’s making everyone sick—it’s dying. And when it dies, everything will go back to normal. We just have to wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t know how to explain. “It’s… my power. I can hear the monster. It says that it’s dying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every day the waves cried louder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Feed me. I’m going to die.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a monster…?” Little Brother asked, his voice meek and scared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so. But it’s okay. It can’t hurt you. I won’t let it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little Brother was quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you really think your parents will like me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll love you!” he said. “Just like I do!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt Little Brother lean down and rest his head on top of his. “I… love you too, big brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Would things have changed if he’d known that the little one-armed boy in a sheet… would be the last person to ever love him?</span>
</p>
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